As to Miss May, one can't tell what to say about her yet--there's no fracture, at least--it must be a work of time to judge." Flora at that moment half-opened the door, and called Mr.Ward, stopping for a moment to say it was for nothing of any consequence.

Mr.Wilmot and Norman were left together.

Norman put his hands over his face and groaned--his master looked at him with kind anxiety, but did not feel as if it were yet time to speak of consolation.
"God bless and support you, and turn this to your good, my dear boy," said he affectionately, as he pressed his hand; "I hope to bring your brother to-morrow." "Thank you, sir," was all Norman could say; and as Mr.Wilmot went out by the front door, he slowly went up again, and, lingering on the landing-place, was met by Mr.Ward, who told him to his relief--for the mere thinking of it renewed the faint sensation--that he had better not go to his father's room.
There was nothing to be done but to return to Ethel and Harry, and tell them all; with some humiliation at being helpless, where Flora was doing so much, and to leave their father to be watched by a stranger.

If he had been wanted, Norman might have made the effort, but being told that he would be worse than useless, there was nothing for him but to give way.
They sat together in Ethel's room till somewhere between eight and nine o'clock, when good old nurse, having put her younger ones to bed, came in search of them.

"Dear, dear! poor darlings," said she, as she found them sitting in the dark; she felt their cold hands, and made them all come into the nursery, where Mary was already, and, fondling them, one by one, as they passively obeyed her, she set them down on their little old stools round the fire, took away the high fender, and gave them each a cup of tea.